


A Soft Touch

by wanderingscholarlad



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1, Acts of Service as a Love Language, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, F/F, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, andy's mortality, the exquisite turn of an ankle is something that can actually be so personal, the heart of a home is the kitchen and they deserve to be warm and happy, touch as comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingscholarlad/pseuds/wanderingscholarlad
Summary: Nicky is strong and sturdy, he would never debate that, but there’s something so wonderful in Nicky’s softness. Maybe he’s overly poetic, but to know that the warrior in Nicolo is tempered by the kind hearted lover makes him even more divine to Joe.They’re in the kitchen of one of their older safehouses, Nicky standing over a dish that smells as fragrant as the garden outside, the summer breeze bringing sea air and the smell of olive trees and rosemary with it. They’re taking some time away from work, from family, were in need of some time just for them. Nicky’s head is bent, considering his cooking and Joe was, until this moment, reading peacefully at the kitchen table.5+1 of times an unexpected side effect of immortality became a way for Nicky and Joe to check in with each other. No matter where they are in the world, or what they are facing, they're a constant for each other.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 79
Kudos: 450
Collections: Star Crossed Immortals





	1. Somewhere Between Genoa and the Sea, Italy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt on the Kinkmeme: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2487.html?thread=523959&posted=1#cmt566967
> 
> This absolutely ran away from me and turned into an exploration of them as characters that somehow became 6 chapters long!

Immortality has many unexpected side effects. It’s harder to get drunk, tattoos won’t stick but piercings will by some unknown logic, their skin is velvet soft to the touch. Something about their supernatural healing prompts constant regeneration of their entire being, none of them have really cared enough to look into the science behind it. 

Joe isn’t particularly phased by the first two effects: he doesn’t drink and he doesn’t see the appeal of tattoos or piercings, prefers his necklace and rings. He loves Nicky’s earrings though, the ones he only wears when they have the time to just exist together. It’s the third unexpected effect of their immortality, however, that Joe cannot help but be enchanted by. Not for himself, no, he’s never particularly minded how his skin felt so long as he was clean, but for Nicky. His lover is like steel wrapped in silk.

Nicky is strong and sturdy, he would never debate that, but there’s something so wonderful in Nicky’s softness. Maybe he’s overly poetic, but to know that the warrior in Nicolo is tempered by the kind hearted lover makes him even more divine to Joe. 

They’re in the kitchen of one of their older safehouses, Nicky standing over a dish that smells as fragrant as the garden outside, the summer breeze bringing sea air and the smell of olive trees and rosemary with it. They’re taking some time away from work, from family, were in need of some time just for them. Nicky’s head is bent, considering his cooking and Joe was, until this moment, reading peacefully at the kitchen table.

He’s distracted now, enchanted by the curve of Nicky’s neck and the glint of earrings, the way his hair is beginning to curl over the nape of his neck. Nicky prefers practical haircuts and practical clothes but that practicality also extends to not getting a haircut unless he particularly feels the need, which leads to him looking soft and scruffy between missions, shaving only every few days. Joe could watch Nicky forever, but he can also touch, and has no reason not to. He marks his place in his book with a scrap of paper and stands - quietly, trying not to startle Nicky into turning around.

Nicky is clearly too focused on dinner, because he starts a little when Joe’s arm goes around his waist, sighing slightly, “Yusuf, habibi, please.”

“I have done nothing.”

Nicky’s little huff tells Joe he’s smiling, and Joe presses his own answering smile against the curls at the nape of Nicky’s neck. He kisses them, so full of love for Nicky that it aches. With that brush of Joe’s lips, Nicky tilts his head for better access and Joe’s smile softens, “Not that tonight, my love.”

“No?”

“No, I just want to hold you a while.”

“Alright.” 

Sex isn’t something they need constantly, it’s a lovely thing, but it isn’t an urgent need. Sometimes, just being together, sharing space and holding each other close feels so much more intimate. It’s what Joe is craving now. He and Nicky have time, so much time, and for tonight, he just needs this.

He slips a hand under Nicky’s shirt, wanting skin on skin contact, and sweeps his fingers along Nicky’s side. Nicky sighs in contentment, loves this as much as Joe does. He leans back a little more, relaxing into Joe’s embrace and giving him better access to Nicky’s body. Nicky takes advantage of the shift, using it to press a kiss to Joe’s cheek, just above the line of his beard.

They stand like that a while, Joe absently stroking the soft swell of Nicky’s hip under his shirt while Nicky stirs dinner.

“What are you making?”

“Couscous - it’s not quite like the one from home, but it’s close.” Nicky’s been trying to recreate flavours from the early days of their immortality recently. It’s made for several wonderful successes, and several extremely frustrating failures. Joe would love for Booker to see Nicky losing his shit because his souffle failed to rise correctly. Nicky derides French food constantly when they are with the others, but only Joe knows that it’s because Nicky has never once successfully replicated a French dish.

“Mmm it smells delicious,” Joe murmurs, so completely content in this moment.

Eventually they have to move, the table needs setting and dinner is ready, and Joe untangles himself with only a fleeting protest. He’ll hold Nicky’s hand over the table, a single candle lit in the centre providing most of their light, and they’ll break bread together. He rubs his thumb over the strong calluses on Nicky’s palms and wonders at these hands, so gentle but capable of such violence. Every time Nicky turns his hands to holding Joe’s, to tending to a child during a war, to soothing Booker or Andy when they’re caught up in the past, to cooking for their family, Joe is reminded that kindness and gentleness are things to be chosen and worked towards. Nicky is kind and gentle, not because he has never been cruel or wrong, but because he knows what it is to be both, and chooses to to be gentle and kind. 

Joe can’t help himself, he lifts their linked hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to Nicky’s palm. It is warm and soft against his lips, and Nicky’s smile is equally so. 


	2. Outside Rabat, Malta

Sex isn’t a driving force for them. It’s a need in the same way hunger or thirst are, but not something that they cannot live without. Their immortal bodies will survive without food or water if they have to, so to will they survive without sex. That doesn’t mean that they don’t enjoy it though. Given the right conditions - privacy, the ability to wash, and safety - sex is something they relish.

They have a villa in Malta. Usually they’re wary of spending too much time at any one safehouse, but the villa in Malta is different. They’ve had it for almost four centuries and it’s verging on decrepit in places but it’s theirs in a way that none of the other safehouses are. Not even Andy has been here. 

They had it fitted with plumbing as soon as running water became de rigueur for private homes, and recently Nicky had the kitchen redone - a brand new oven in pride of place when they arrive. Nicky is immediately hovering over it, giving Joe a beseeching look and Joe laughs and agrees to put off the walk they were going to take along the coast. Nicky has two things in life he’ll drop almost anything for: his guns and his kitchens. Joe isn’t ever worried though, he knows perfectly well that he is the one thing in Nicky’s life that Nicky would drop absolutely everything for.

He rolls his eyes fondly and takes their bag up to their room, throwing open the shutters to help it air out. The sound of Nicky banging around in the kitchen is familiar and soothing to Joe as he unpacks and makes the bed. He doesn’t bother putting the blankets on properly, it’s warm and they’ll likely only sleep with a sheet, and besides, he’s already envisioning Nicky spread out and wanting. Blankets would only be a hindrance. 

It’s barely midday and Nicky’s made bread that needs to proof by the time Joe finishes up in their room. He’s showered, always wants to wash off the feeling of having spent hours in a plane as soon as humanly possible.

He presses a kiss to Nicky’s cheek, “Go shower. I’ll run down to the shops and buy some groceries. Don’t bother getting dressed after, okay?”

Nicky smiles, wry, “You’ve made plans without me?”

“I was making our bed, and thinking about how much I’d like to undo all my hardwork.”

Nicky lets out a delighted laugh at that, “Alright then.”

“I also couldn’t stop thinking about laying you out and worshipping you,” Joe admits, enjoying the way a flush spreads across Nicky’s cheeks. Nicky’s frozen, halfway out the door, and he takes a steadying breath that’s visible from halfway across the room - though, in truth, that could just be because Joe knows Nicky intimately enough to understand what that sharp rise of his chest means. 

“Don’t be long at the shops,” is all Nicky says, before he’s hurrying down the hall.

Nicky’s sprawled on the bed when Joe gets back, half hard and touching himself lazily. He’s still a little damp from the shower, hair curling and cheeks pink, and he looks like temptation itself. Joe hastily sheds his clothes, eyes following the path of Nicky’s hands. One is stroking at his own inner thigh, the back brushing against his dick every so often. The other is tracing a path up and down his chest. He seems to be touching himself just to feel, more than for any specific purpose. He’s watching Joe now though, gaze weighted with want. They haven’t spoken, almost don’t need to. What is language but communication, and why bother speaking aloud when all you need to say can be spoken with eyes and hands?

Joe’s finally free of his loose button down and he crawls onto the bed, hovering over Nicky. They stare at each other for a moment and then Nicky’s hand is in Joe’s hair and they’re kissing. It’s uncoordinated for a moment, even with how well they know each other's bodies, Nicky’s nose squashed against Joe’s cheek and Joe’s teeth against Nicky’s lip, overly enthusiastic. Their rhythm settles soon enough though, and they melt into each other.

Nicky has a hand in Joe’s hair and the other pressed against his sternum, pressed to his heart. Joe has one curled around the shape of Nicky’s jaw, and the other against his hip, fingers digging into the softness of Nicky’s stomach.

“I wanted to worship you, habibi, and yet here you are, worshipping me,” Joe murmurs between them when they break apart. Even immortal, they are still human and do need to breathe.

“I had to worship first,” Nicky shrugs, “You can now, if you’d like.”

“If I’d like? Maybe I’ll just leave you here, hard and wanting, if you’re going to be like that.” It’s a tease and they both know it, Joe couldn’t leave Nicky in their bed wanting for him, anymore than Nicky could withhold from worshipping Joe a little first. Nicky doesn’t answer in as many words, just rolls his hips up against Joe’s and lets his legs fall open a little more.

Joe kisses Nicky once more, before shifting so he’s kneeling between Nicky’s thighs. He pauses to consider for a moment, had thought about this as he was coming back from the shops but now he has his canvas before him, his vision is shifting fluidly. He presses biting kisses to Nicky’s collarbones, revelling in him. Nicky is pale, they’ve been in Russia for some time and the sun hasn’t yet warmed his skin to that soft bronze that speaks of lazy days under an olive tree and hours posing nude for Joe to sketch him, careless of the open sky above them. They don’t have neighbours in Malta and they’re freer here. Soon Nicky’s milky complexion will glow golden and be dotted with constellations of freckles that Joe will trace with his mouth and hands, but for now, he’s content to worship his rose flushed love.

Joe kisses Nicky’s sternum, hands settling on his hips, butterflying out over the stretch of Nicky’s stomach. He means to kiss every atom of Nicky over their many lifetimes and today is just another step towards success. Nicky arches into him when Joe bites at the top of his stomach. Joe chases the bite with a kiss and Nicky hands loosen where they’ve been gripping on to the sheets. He wants Joe to touch him, has been waiting almost an hour, but Joe is determined to properly worship Nicky first.

It seems to Nicky, that it takes a veritable age for Joe to reach the curve of his stomach. To Joe, every minute spent kissing the milky expanse of Nicky is a millennium to revel in. His thumbs caress the soft skin, thinner at Nicky’s inner thigh than almost anywhere else on his body. Like this, Nicky’s veins are blue under the warm light and Joe spends a while tracing those lines, mapping the ways in which Nicky heart beats for him. Nicky’s thighs are straining with the effort of holding still and Joe loves him for it.

He runs a thumb along the line of Nicky’s dick and Nicky can’t help it, he bucks into the touch. Joe gets a hand around him, the way easy with how wet Nicky is from anticipation. He keeps peppering gentle kisses to Nicky’s body, this time focusing on his inner thighs. Nicky’s legs are almost shaking and he’s babbling now. For how stoic and reserved he usually is, Nicky is practically a wordsmith in bed.

“Please, hayati, please. I love your hands, I love your mouth.” He’s murmuring praise, broken up in several languages but the gist remains the same.

Joe sees no reason to make him wait any longer and swallows down Nicky’s dick. He presses his fingers into the velvet softness of Nicky’s thighs and lets him buck helplessly as he comes.

Afterwards, when they’re lying amongst the sun warm sheets, Nicky turns to him, “Do you not want to get off?”

“Not yet. I want you to fuck me later, but it can wait.”

Nicky falls asleep straight after sex almost every time, and he needs to get up and finish baking his bread soon. Joe’s content with letting the arousal simmer for a while longer, just basking in having Nicky, sated and warm and soft, pressed against his side.


	3. Melbourne, Australia

Only Andy has really spent any significant length of time in the Antipodes but they all fell in love with Melbourne when they first arrived. They needed some distance from the events in London with Merrick and some space to heal. Booker’s most likely in Paris and after all, antipode does mean the direct opposite for a reason. Australia - with it’s wide surrounding sea and its sunburnt vastness - is the perfect antidote to the strain they’re under. They’ve spent some time in the empty centre, camping under the stars and training Nile with bladed weapons. She seems to have an affinity for Andy’s axe and Nicky is already contemplating returning to his old smithing hobby to make her a weapon of her own. He’ll have to wait until they are back in Europe though; he has a workshop tucked away in Germany. 

Now though, they’re ensconced in a detached Victorian townhouse with a decent backyard. The neighbours assume they’re LARPers so they get away with sparring in the garden as long as they aren’t too rowdy. 

It’s getting into winter, blustery cold but brilliantly sunny most days. Melbourne weather is mercurial at the best of times, and they quickly learn to pack a jacket and an umbrella even when the sky is clear and bright. 

The city suits them. It’s vibrant and thriving, so full of life that they can’t seem to stop living it. It’s the distraction they so dearly needed. Joe and Nile spend hours upon hours at the NGV and exploring the street art rich laneways in the inner city. Andy thrives with the live music culture and the nightlife, something about being mortal again has made her wild - there’s some spark that’s lit up for the first time in decades and none of them will begrudge her her happiness. Nile enrolls at one of the universities, planning on studying art history now she has the means and time. Copley’s constructed a new identity and all the relevant documents for her and she comes home with endless stories about the things she’s learning and the people she’s meeting. Nicky had considered going back to university as well, but ultimately decided against it. He needs more time.

Joe’s anger burns bright and fast, but Nicky’s simmers away in a way that he hates about himself. Joe takes his hands and kisses the backs when he finds Nicky kneeling by their bed. Religion is something that ebbs and flows for both of them over the centuries. When they’re unsure or upset though, it’s a familiar home for the feelings, a framework for how to process. Nicky still sees the world in terms of penance and blessings; Joe still avoids alcohol and makes sure to live by the guidance of the Hadith where possible - he avoids yellow gold, preferring silver, and practices wudu regularly. Nicky is trying to forgive Booker, but mostly, he is trying to forgive himself. His anger is in turns directed at Booker for the betrayal and the pain that followed and then at himself for failing his brother. They all need the time apart in their own ways, Joe holding Nicky’s hands in his own paint stained ones reminds him of that. Joe is healing in his own way, spending hours painting, putting his feelings onto the canvas in dramatic sweeps of paint and softer, smaller lines of charcoal. Booker features in many of the drawings, Joe needing to look at him somehow.

Nicky throws himself into cooking. He avoids French food even more now than he ever has, but in the kitchen, he can keep himself occupied and find an outlet for the restless energy he’s been filled with lately. Nile had made them take this quiz recently, something about love languages, because she’d joked that it would help her understand the team dynamic better. She’d joked about it, but afterwards been oddly solemn about how much of an insight it had given her. Nicky wasn’t particularly surprised by his result though. Acts of service: doing things to communicate your love to those you care for. They’d been sitting at the kitchen table when she’d suggested it too, waiting on a roast to finish up so they could have dinner, Nicky fussing over the gravy as he stood over the stove. 

For millennia, the kitchen has been the heart of the home. The hearth was a sacred place in the centre of the home, providing warmth and sustenance to those who dwelt within the outer walls. Nicky thinks about that sometimes, when he’s cooking for them. He is part of a greater tradition of providing and loving. Food is more than just food. It is love and culture and tradition. 

It’s why he finds himself at the Queen Victoria Markets every other day, early usually with one of the others in tow because he cannot carry enough groceries for all of them. Nile comes with him usually, the two of them buying whatever tickles their fancy as they wander down the aisles. The other day, they came home with nothing but a purple cauliflower and some hummus to show for their efforts. It had been raining, and they were tired, but that didn’t stop Andy from laughing at them and deciding they’d go out for dinner instead.

He’s there with Joe today, later in the day than usual. They’d been out for brunch, and in their post meal contentment had decided to stop by and see if there was anything good. Nicky’s been talking about buying harissa and making proper Tunisian food for Joe for weeks now and he’s forgotten everytime. He really should keep a shopping list, but that would take the fun out of shopping.

One of the other things Nicky loves about Melbourne, is that no one looks twice at him and Yusuf as they walk along hand in hand. Well, that isn’t quite true. Occasionally young adults will glance at their joined hands and smile in that relieved way that Nicky recognises only too well. He’s glad that they can look at him and Joe and feel reaffirmed by the simple sight of them holding hands. It’s a little act of good, but it is still an act of good.

They make their way to Gewurzhaus, Joe chatting to the lady behind the counter as Nicky browses. She’s got bright pink hair, styled like the ladies from the 1940s and Nicky pauses to admire it a moment before pulling on Joe’s hand and asking if they should get some za’atar too.

They end up spending an exorbitant amount of money, but it’s worth it for the variety and quality of the spices, and the lovely chat they’re having with the girl behind the counter. She passes Nicky the spices and he starts putting them in his backpack, letting her and Joe chat as he tries to wedge all the little packets in place.

She’s giving him a considering look when he looks up again and then appears to bite the bullet, laughing a little, “Sorry, this might be weird, but your hands are really soft. What moisturiser do you use? Mine always get so dry in winter.”

Nicky almost panics, he doesn’t think he’s used moisturiser once in his life, but then he remembers the little black tub Nile has in their shared bathroom. He’s trying to remember the writing on it.

“It’s from LUSH,” he says, a little hesitantly.

“Pansy,” Joe finishes for him, has clearly caught on to what he’s getting at, “It smells lovely too.”

The lady smiles brightly, “I’ll have to pop to LUSH after work then. Thanks. You two have a nice afternoon!”

“You too.” They smile at her and head off, bickering about whether to catch a tram or walk home.

They’re on the tram when Joe says something. Nicky knew he would too.

“She’s right you know. You have the softest hands.”

He brings one up to kiss and Nicky can’t help but smile at him.

Later, he’ll turn his soft hands to making Manakish with the za’atar they bought, and bicker with Nile about the way he leaves the pans in the sink to soak, but for the moment, he leans into Joe a little more and lets the movement of the tram rock them.


	4. Outside Gavle, Sweden

It’s cold in Sweden. Joe isn’t really all that surprised by that but it doesn’t exactly help that the cabin they’re hunkering down in only has a log fire for heating. There’s a tv though, and Joe isn’t sure about the owners priorities but he appreciates that there’s football to watch at least. The five of them are all pressed into the tiny living room. Booker, Nile and Andy are sprawled on the larger couch, it’s almost impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. Booker grumbled a little that they’d be warmer with alcohol, but it was fleeting and his sobriety is a continual source of contentment for all of them. Andy’s wearing a beanie with a pom pom on it, and Nicky’s fairly sure it’s Nile’s originally, but Nile has another beanie pulled down over her ears and he doesn’t fancy having his head bitten off for telling Andy that it’s cute.

He and Joe are curled up on the loveseat, Joe facing the tv and Nicky facing Joe. They’re too tall for it really, but it’s nice to curl up like this. Nicky’s got three jumpers on, and Joe’s wearing a scarf inside. He privately decides that he’s going to maim Andy for choosing this place - even if he’ll admit that the busy work has helped smooth Booker’s rejoining the team - and then move somewhere warm and sunny where he doesn’t have to wear a single stitch of clothing. Then he feels Joe’s hand land on his ankle and reconsiders his stance a little. He rather likes the thick woolen socks they’d bought from a lady at the Christmas market earlier. They’re cozy and his feet are the only part of him that is properly warm. Maybe a few stitches can stay.

Joe holds Nicky’s ankle, fingers cold against the bare skin and Nicky flinches a little. Joe goes to pull his hand away and Nicky pulls an apologetic face, “No, stay - it’s just cold.”

Andy grumbles at them for talking during the game, but there’s no heat in it. There’s no heat in anything if Nicky’s honest, the fire is pretty but not doing its job particularly well. Joe’s hand on him is grounding though, and he curls into the back of the sofa a little more, watching Joe. He’s focused on the game again but his thumb is absently rubbing across the peak of skin between Nicky’s jeans and the thick socks. Nicky was reading, but he lets his book go unnoticed in his lap, thinking about Joe instead. They keep no secrets between them, and he knows how much Joe adores the softness of Nicky’s skin - he rarely considered his ankles as a vehicle for this softness though. Usually Joe presses his calloused artist’s fingers into Nicky’s thighs, or stomach, or the softness just above his hips when he wants to revel in Nicky. 

Nicky remembers the Regency Era with great fondness sometimes, and Joe’s hand on his ankle prompts a reminiscence. The exquisite turn of an ankle was quite the daring thing for a while and Nicky remembers Joe laughing about it, chastising Nicky for going around so scandalously naked when he’d gone barefoot in their room. Before then, during the European Renaissance, artists had been veritably obsessed with well turned calves. Nicky had had to let Joe use him as a model for hours while Joe worked to perfectly capture his legs with his charcoals. He knows that there was some deeper meaning at play, something to do with strong calves being associated with nobility for their show of physical prowess and equestrian aptitude. Mainly though, he remembers that Joe had spent hours - in both eras - lavishing kisses up his legs. Well, that’s certainly one way to get warmed up. 

Nicky won’t indulge it, it’s too cold to even think about getting undressed, and besides, they’re all sleeping in the same room tonight. He lets himself dwell on the fond memories though, all the while admiring how the firelight plays on Joe’s face. The immortality they share is a blessing in so many ways. They’ve gotten to share several lifetimes and have more ahead of them. They get to share their love with each other, and their family. There’s small things too: the way they never stay sick for long, the way they’ve gotten to travel the world and also, the way Joe loves how soft Nicky is under his hands. Nicky is mellow tonight, feels like he’s straining at the seams with how much he feels but also basking in the feeling.

Joe must know he’s being watched because he smiles slowly and tilts his face to look at Nicky.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m counting my blessings,” Nicky admits. 

“And they are?” They’ve had this conversation before, and sometimes the answer varies. It depends on what Nicky’s been mulling over, but tonight the answer is blindingly simple. Nicky looks at Joe’s hand on his ankle, the way Joe is embracing his whole being with that simple touch and smiles, a thoughtful small thing.

“Just one. Just you.”

Joe has to kiss him at that. They break apart when something squashy hits them in the chest. It’s Andy’s beanie and she looks smug at having landed the shot. She looks less smug, however, when Joe smiles broadly and puts it on.

“Thank you, Andromache, my head was beginning to get cold.”


	5. Istanbul, Turkey

No matter where in the world they go, Nicky seems to always find somewhere to buy the best groceries. It might help that the little old ladies at the bazaar are enchanted by Joe. His wide smiles and general charm go a long way with little old ladies and he’s never once failed to put it to good use. He’ll wax poetic about the quality of their goods and the magical dishes his husband makes from them and they giggle and pinch his cheeks in turn.

Nicky’s better with children than old ladies, they don’t mind his somberness so much. Old ladies remind him of his mother and grandmother and something in him just ceases to function when he’s reminded too much of the family he had before his first death. He and Joe are more than comfortable picking up the slack when the other needs them to, and this is one of those things that Nicky just needs Joe to handle. He’ll handle cooking and spiders and getting mad at the airport security people, and Joe will handle talking to little old ladies who remind Nicky too much of the people he’s lost and making the bed, because Nicky hasn’t hated anything in the thousand years he has been alive, more than he hates fitted sheets. 

Joe tells him about the ladies after, when they’re at home, drinking blindingly strong coffee or sweet mint tea. Nicky loves hearing about their lives, the simplicity of their daily routines and the beauty they all seem to find in the most mundane things. One of them always tells Joe about her grandchildren. Another’s cat has just had kittens. Another tells them family recipes and tells them they’re too skinny. Joe doesn’t have favourites, except that he does. 

Yasmin is hunched over in her old age, but her eyes are whip smart and she tells Joe about her specialist doctor husband. He hates that she insists on her little cart at the market, selling home baked goods. She’s stubborn about it though, she’d had the cart back when they first met and she likes the chance to socialise and meet people. He argues that she could stay home and entertain her friends there like a queen, but her cart makes her happy and he loves her too much to really argue with her. Joe laughed when she tells him the story, looking over at Nicky who is considering some spices at the stall near them and leans in for a conspiratorial whisper, “My husband is as stubborn as you are. I insist that he let me do the shopping today - he was very tired this morning you see-” with that Joe gives her an exaggerated wink and she laughs and whacks his arm fondly “- but he insisted that I never buy the right things and spend too long gossiping.”

The friendship only grows with each passing week and soon enough, Joe comes down to the bazaar with Nicky just to sit and gossip with the ladies he’s befriended. Nicky doesn’t mind at all, they all slip him an extra bit of honey or fruit and Joe helps him carry the groceries home. It’s a pleasant ritual. After a few weeks, Nicky even starts to hover by Joe while he chats, just a while. 

Nicky likes Joe’s little old ladies, he just doesn’t have the same ease of talking to them as Joe does. Joe tells him one morning that the women assume Nicky’s Turkish isn’t particularly good and that they are embarrassed about their English. It frustrates Nicky to hear that.    
“That they speak any English at all is a compliment to their intelligence. The whole world should not speak English to please white men.” It’s a conversation they’ve had plenty of times, so instead of replying, Joe kisses the soft span of Nicky’s bare shoulder, golden and lightly freckled. Nicky sighs and lets it go, too content to be truly angry this morning.

“Your shoulders are blessed by the heavens, your back a map of the sweetest constellations,” Joe murmurs into his shoulder blade and Nicky can feel the sweet curve of his smile. 

“You are too wordy for this hour,” Nicky grumbles. Joe’s beautiful words light him up and he never knows how to respond properly.

“I am exactly as wordy as you deserve. I would hold you against me and tell you these things always, but we are going to be late for the market, my heart, and I was promised figs and gossip.”

Nicky grumbles but reaches for his shirt, crumpled on the floor by their bed.

He sits with them again, and makes an effort to actually speak. He lets himself be awkward in Turkish, and Joe beams at him when Yasmin pats his hand and tells him he’s improving nicely in his pronunciation.

She takes his hand in hers and pats it again and frowns at him. He’s worried he’s said something wrong but then she’s addressing Joe in a flood of rapid fire Turkish that even Nicky, who has been fluent in the language for almost four hundred years, has trouble following. 

Joe shakes his head and looks serious, and then smiles brightly at her. She’s still patting his hand and Nicky looks between them in confusion. He caught the word for doctor, and tired, and sick - is she talking about her husband?

Joe swaps to Italian, the minute quiver of his cheek telling Nicky he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Yasmin wants to know if we’ve taken you to a doctor recently.”

“What?”

“Because you’re tired all the time, and have such bags under your eyes. She says you walk like an old man and that your skin is like the ears of a puppy. Apparently these are all signs of a connective tissue disorder - her husband is a specialist after all,” Joe is smiling as he explains and Nicky looks between him and Yasmin with a dawning understanding.

“Tell her I’ll see a doctor when we’re home in Italy, and thank her for raising the concern.” Nicky’s stifling laughter of his own, because it is so incredibly sweet that Yasmin cares enough to check but the idea of his immortal, supernaturally healing body having a connective tissue disorder is somehow hilarious.

Yasmin nods at what Joe tells her and pats Nicky’s hand once more before releasing it. She tells him he’s lucky to have such a good husband and to look after himself. He agrees wholeheartedly but not for the reasons she might think.

The conversation moves on but once they’re home, they loop back to it. 

Joe is kissing his cheeks in the entryway, laughing a little, the groceries forgotten about already, “You’re perfect, with your old man walk, and your tired eyes, and your skin like the ears of a puppy.”

Nicky groans, he’s going to be hearing about this for an extremely long time, he just knows it.

He turns his face to catch Joe’s mouth in a kiss, hoping to distract him from his laughter for a moment. It works, but then Nicky remembers about the groceries and curses, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph - we need to put the figs in the fridge, habibi.”

“Blasphemy, love,” Joe says without heat, stepping back and scooping up the groceries, “I’d quite like to take you to bed, you know? See if I can get you blaspheming even more than that.”

Nicky swears again, Joe will be the death of him if he keeps saying things like that so casually. 


	6. London, England

They’re too old to avoid every place in the world that might bring back upsetting memories. But even for them, ten years feels like far too soon to have returned to London. There’s six of them now. Andy’s eyes crinkle with warmth when she smiles at Quynh and her hair is streaked with grey. They barely move more than five paces from the other and it aches to look directly at them sometimes. 

Nicky and Joe cannot fathom being separated by mortality. Was it not enough that Andy and Quynh spent almost five centuries separated by the depths of the ocean? They know, logically, that Andy and Quynh are not like them. Andy spent thousands of years alone before Quynh, and now Quynh will spend thousands of years alone after Andy. Nicky and Joe became immortal together, and they are quietly certain that when they do again become mortal, it will be together. Even so, watching the way Andy and Quynh orbit each other, the desperate push pull of a black hole and a burning star, they cling a little tighter to each other. Andy has years left still, and Quynh won’t lose her without warning, but good God, the thought of being left behind terrifies them. They know it terrifies her, even if she won’t give voice to that fear. They can see it in the way she watches Andy every moment that Andy isn’t looking back at her. 

Nicky has to reach for Joe when he watches them too long. He’s trying to immortalise Andy in his mind, appreciate her for the beautiful, happy soul she is. He spends hours in the kitchen, making baklava and pho in turn, watching Andy and Quynh light up with delight, and knowing that he can give them these moments of joy at least. Joe’s sketch book, usually filled with Nicky - except for a few decades where all he could draw was Quynh, frantically trying to conjure her likeness for a grieving Andy, and recently when even through the pain, he couldn’t stop drawing Booker, missing him deeply - becomes filled with drawings of Andy, of Andy and Quynh together. 

Nile and Quynh connected almost immediately, the fire in both of them stoking and encouraging the other. Combined with Joe’s enthusiasm, Nicky worries they’re going to bring down half of London in one fell swoop. But it would make Andy smile and all of them would raze cities to the ground for that smile. The two of them have their heads bent together over Nile’s laptop and Nicky isn’t sure he even wants to know what they’re looking at. Andy is reading near by, stretched out so she can put her feet in Quynh’s lap. Booker is sprawled on the ground, perusing a first edition Book of Margery Kempe that the Bodleian would literally kill for, with a mug of coffee precariously balanced next to it. Joe’s out in the garden, having a nap and soaking in the sun, and despite his melancholy thoughts, Nicky is perfectly content. He’s surrounded by family and they’re all okay. 

He leans against the counter a moment, contemplating his options, he could join the others in the living room, but glancing out the window, joining Joe seems like a much more tempting prospect. Joe is sprawled out on the grass, a hat over his face and his arms behind his head. He’s probably asleep, the midafternoon summer sun makes all of them lazy. A nap sounds really nice right now if Nicky is honest with himself. Resolved, he passes through the living room, running a hand across Nile’s shoulder when she looks up at him curiously. 

He closes the sliding door with a gentle touch, careful not to wake Joe if he is sleeping. He comes to stand next to Joe, barefoot and enjoying the way the soft grass crumples underfoot. They leave a mark where they walk, but if he glances behind him, the grass is already unfurling as if he was never there. Joe curls a hand around his ankle and tilts his hat back to look up at Nicky, a wordless question on his face.   
“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was thinking about it. Have you come to join me?”

“I was thinking about it,” Nicky mimics with a fond smile and frowns when Joe sits up, “What are you doing?”

“We have a bed here, if you want to nap, we’d better use it. You’re an old man, Nicolo, you can’t be sleeping in the garden any more.”   
“I am three years younger than you,” Nicky grumbles, affronted but smiling. He will never turn down Joe asking him to go to bed with him.

Nicky pulls Joe to his feet and brushes the grass off his back, sighing at the green on Joe’s blue shirt, “This needs a wash now.”

“You just want to see me shirtless,” Joe flirts, winking at Nicky.

“You know me far too well.”

They head back inside, hand in hand and Joe announces that they’re going up for a nap like the old men they are, and that they’re not to be disturbed until dinner. Nicky hides a smile at the way Booker and Nile immediately roll their eyes at them. Quynh and Andy just look fond and Nicky pauses to squeeze Andy’s hands. They’re chapped, she refuses to use moisturiser and her healing won’t regenerate her skin like it used to. 

“I’m an old lady now, Nico,” she’d said when she noticed him watching the way her forehead wrinkles when she laughs.

“You’re still beautiful, Andromache.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Nicky had swallowed back tears at the exchange and he’s suddenly reminded of it. He squeezes his hand in Joe’s, grounding himself as they turn away from the others to go upstairs.

“Habibi?” Joe asks once they’re in their room, he can tell that something is off but he isn’t quite sure what it is.

Nicky sighs, pressing his forehead against Joe’s cheek for a moment before pulling back to look Joe in the eye, “Just, Andy.” 

He’s never been a wordsmith but Joe has never asked him to be. Joe nods, wrapping an arm around Nicky’s waist, “We have had centuries with her, my love, it is her time.”

“It is her time,” Nicky echoes, suddenly desperate with the need to touch Joe, feel him all over and be held by him. Odd, how the threat of loss makes you cling so tightly to what you have, rather than teaching you to let go gracefully.

He presses his hands under Joe’s shirt.

“I thought you wanted to nap?”   
“I need you, please-” Nicky can’t explain the sudden fervour but Joe seems to understand, moving them to the bed and pulling his clothes off. 

Joe sprawls out on the sheets, mimicking his earlier sprawl in the grass and for a moment Nicky regrets not just tackling him then, but they do have neighbours here. London prompts some anxiety in both of them, naturally, and they’ve avoided the business district and city centre where possible, preferring to stay on the outskirts. This trip is for Quynh and Andy, but none of them can imagine not being with Andy every year they still have to spend with her. She would never ask them to come to London, but Quynh had asked to see how much it had changed and they’d all shared a heavy look and agreed to the trip. The fizzing anxiety makes Nicky desperate to touch Joe, to be reminded that he’s here and whole. He can, there is nothing stopping him. He does.

He kneels between Joe’s thighs, the position reminiscent of a memorable afternoon in Malta, and they share a knowing smile. London will always make them long for Malta, the two places so different but now, linked. Nicky’s considering his options, he wants to feel Joe, intimately, carnally, needs that physical reminder that they’re together and safe. Joe’s waiting patiently, hands stroking over Nicky’s jean clad thighs. Why Nicky insists on jeans even in summer remains a mystery to all of them, but if Nicky’s happy it’s worth it to Joe. 

Nicky pulls back and Joe is content to watch, pleased when it results in Nicky getting undressed. He never makes a show of it, and yet every time it is one of the most beautiful sights Joe has ever had the privilege to see. Nicky climbs back onto the bed, lube in hand. He discards it to the pillows and Joe just knows they’ll have to search for it when they want it, but he doesn’t worry about it for long because Nicky is kissing him now. Nicky’s mouth is frantic, his hands equally so on Joe’s chest. Joe just keeps a steady hand on Nicky’s side, sweeping up and down occasionally. Nicky melts, the burning flame of need settling to a warm light. He gets a hand on Joe after a moment, a little too dry, but still good. They’re only half hard, too familiar with each other for a bit of making out to get them all the way there. 

It’s inelegant when Nicky pulls back to lick his hand and get it back on Joe, Nicky listing a little in his eagerness. Joe has to smile though, over seven centuries together and they still get like this, still get these moments of pure raging need for the other. Nicky’s enthusiasm more than makes up for the clumsiness brought on by his desperation, the desperation itself is a wonderful thing. He’s canting his hips against Joe’s thigh and pressing soft kisses to Joe’s collarbone. 

Joe tugs him up for another kiss, “What’s your plan, hayati?”

“I was thinking I could ride you?” Nicky asks, more than explains, breathless from being kissed. 

“Mmm that does sound nice,” Joe can’t stop smiling, he loves Nicky too much. He loves him when he’s composed and stoic, when he’s a babbling mess, when he’s eager and clumsy with it. Mostly he loves that as soon as Nicky finds something to be frustrated or upset by, he turns to Joe, knows that there is a well of love so deep that it will never run dry between them.

Nicky presses kisses to the crinkles framing Joe’s eyes, and Joe knows he’s still thinking about the way Andy’s have deepened over the past decade. He’s not going to tell Nicky to stop worrying about it, he’s equally troubled by how his drawings of Andromache have changed over the last ten years. He finds himself trying to draw her as she was, and then remembering. The charcoal looks particularly cruel, emphasising the lines of her smile, as if they know why Joe is committing her to paper so desperately. 

He squeezes Nicky’s thighs again and then brings his arms up to rest either side of his head, letting Nicky set their pace.

Nicky skates the backs of his fingers up the soft skin of Joe’s inner arm, marvelling at it, before lacing their fingers together. He rarely thinks about Joe being soft to the touch like this. For Nicky, Joe’s softness is in his poetic words, the open love and affection he has for their family, the way he sees beauty in the world around them always. He forgets sometimes that Joe is just as soft to the touch as he is to Nicky’s heart. Joe’s curls slip between his fingers, Nicky having completely forgotten that they were having sex because he’s so lost in Joe. 

Joe grinds his hips up against Nicky’s stomach, he doesn’t mind being appreciated but he would actually like to nap after this and dinner is only a few hours away. Nicky laughs a little, mostly at himself and leans in to steal another kiss before rummaging through the blankets for the lube.

Nicky opens himself up, taking his time. Even if their healing permits them rushing, sex is far better with proper preperation. He doesn’t bother with more than what’s necessary, even if, for a moment, he’s tempted to show off for Joe just a little bit. This isn’t really about him though, this is about them being together and Nicky dragging out the prep would be a hindrance to that. He does bite back a groan when he pulls his fingers free, accidentally dragging against his prostate. Joe makes a pained sound, has been watching patiently for what feels like hours now.

Nicky sinks down, lacing their hands together and sighing at the feeling of fullness. He settles there a moment, taking a deep breath and a moment to adjust, and Joe presses his free hand into the crease of Nicky’s hip, just holding. The moment stretches out, and Nicky imagines they could stay like this forever, crystalised in this warm moment of contentment. He’s not cruel enough to try it, has asked Joe to wait for long enough. He rolls his hips, settling into a smooth rhythm easily enough. They don’t have a particular preference for any particular sex acts or positions, seven hundred years with someone will smooth the edges of your desire until you can make it any shape you wish it to be. Seven hundred years together also ensures that they know each other inside and out, and Nicky knows that if he pauses just so before rolling his hips back, Joe’s eyes will practically roll back into his head with pleasure.

Joe shifts so he can plant his feet better against the mattress and meet Nicky halfway, and Nicky can only take that for so long before he’s pitching forwards, catching himself on his elbows. It’s messy and less than optimal, but like this they can kiss. It doesn’t take long after that before their rhythm becomes overwhelmed by their desperation and then, they’re just grinding together. Nicky shoves a hand between them to touch himself and he trembles as he falls apart, slumping into Joe. 

“Do you need me to wait?” Joe checks, sometimes Nicky likes the overstimulation of being fucked after he’s already come and other times it makes him shiver and seize up, overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

Nickys hands and mouth are needy against Joe’s shoulders though, “Please, please.”

Joe takes that for the enthusiastic consent he was after and rolls them over so he can look at Nicky’s soft expression as he finishes. Nicky looks fucked out and flushed, his mouth open in a way that, if Joe was a more impartial man, he would say looked more than a little silly, but it’s Nicky and that’s all that matters. 

They lay next to each other, sated and content. 

“Are you feeling better?” Joe asks, not particularly worried but wanting to check in.

Nicky sighs heavily and rolls over onto his side, eyes tracing Joe’s chest fondly. He puts a hand on Joe’s cheek, “I just can’t imagine living a single day without you by my side.”

Joe laughs in delight, cheeks going pink at the practically floral words from Nicky, “And we say I’m the one who is good with words. I won’t let you live a day without me, my love. It’s like destiny right?”   
“We are not meant to be alone,” Nicky agrees and lays his head against Joe’s shoulder, something in his chest loosening at the reassurance. 

Soon, it’ll be dinner time and they’ll have to get up and get dressed, facing the obligatory teasing about being grandpas who need a midafternoon nap. For now though, they can bask in the comfort of just lying together, calm in body, mind and soul. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @wandering-scholar-lad, feel free to come yell at me about the Old Guard


End file.
